


Sweet Seventeen

by EllaStorm



Category: Queer as Folk (US), Supernatural
Genre: Dean has No Clue, M/M, Sam is a Tease, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:51:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds Sam in front of the TV, watching a show that can only be described as gay. When he comes back to himself pressed against the door, Sam on his knees in front of him, he can’t help but wonder how he got there. (Hint: It involves a serious case of forceful Impala-pinning, as well as crotch-groping and the pilot episode of “Queer as Folk”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Seventeen

The roar of the Impala’s engine subsided when Dean turned the keys and pulled them out of the ignition. For a while he just sat and stared out through the windshield over the half-empty motel parking lot, recapping the last hour in his head, rubbing the sore spot on his neck and tasting the remnants of sweetness left by cheap cherry-flavoured lip-gloss, before he finally got out of the car and started walking in the direction of the room he shared with Sam. He was not very keen on going back there: Dad was out of town, since two days ago a fellow hunter (Corben or Colin, Dean couldn’t exactly tell with that accent) had picked him up, because he needed his expertise, - but not before Sam and Dad had fought for two hours straight about the universe and life as a whole. Ever since then Dean’s seventeen-year-old baby brother had been in one of his worst moods ever, and as Dean himself was the only easily available target, all of his bitchiness fell back on him. So Dean had spent most of the time away, driving around, going to bars, hustling pool, drinking and picking up girls. But even though he had originally intended to leave Sam completely to his own devices until Dad came back, his own consciousness had finally guilt-tricked him into at least dropping by for a minute to see if Sammy was fine.

The December-air was fucking chilly when Dean got out of the car, and he balled his hands into fists to keep them a little warmer. He hoped for Sam’s (and his own) sake that the heating worked as he started scrambling for the keys to room 22.

When he reached his destination, a tiny, involuntary rush of fear shot through his insides - but only half a second later the opening motel room door revealed that any kind of worry on Dean’s side had been completely unnecessary: He was welcomed by a rush of warm air, proving that the heating worked, and the image of Sam, clad in jeans and a t-shirt that were both already a little bit too small for his ever-growing body, sprawling on the saggy couch in front of the TV, watching some programme that involved whispered dialogue and cheesy music. He was so absorbed in whatever it was that it took a few seconds for him to notice Dean standing in the doorway. When he finally did, his face flushed and he hastily grabbed for the remote, turning the TV off - which, of course, was a sure-fire way to actually get Dean interested in what his little brother was watching.

"Really, Sammy?", he asked, head cocked to one side. "Soon as I’m out you start watching porn?" Sam’s expression went from startled embarrassment to ubiquitous annoyance in less than two seconds. "I wasn’t watching porn, jerk." But there was still a hint of insecurity in his voice - and now Dean was nothing less than intrigued, sibling instincts kicking in with a vengeance. "Then why don’t you just carry on watching? Don’t let yourself be interrupted by me", he said with a sly grin, shaking off his leather jacket. “‘T was boring anyway", Sam replied, shrugging a tad too nonchalantly for Dean to buy it. He put his jacket away, and his brother relaxed out of his attention for a second - exactly what he had been waiting for. With a jump that would put any feline predator to shame he lunged at Sam and wrestled the remote from his hand. "HEY!", his brother protested, jumping up from the couch - but it was too late. Dean pressed “On”, the TV flickeringly came back to life, and he took the on-screen-imagery in with a shit-eating grin, keeping the remote just out of Sam’s reach with well-trained evasion manoeuvres.

 

He needed a few moments to process what was actually happening on TV - which was partially derived from the fact that he wasn’t expecting it in the least. There WAS indeed naked flesh, but, well, no female parts. Two dudes. Fucking. The one on top had slightly tousled brown hair, the other one was blonde - and apparently a lot younger. On the second glance it didn’t even seem to be proper porn: No actual cocks onscreen, artsy lighting and, well, the dialogue just didn’t fit. No porn star ever talked about condoms.

"What the fuck, Sammy?", Dean managed, the grin completely wiped from his face, stopping in his tracks, which gave Sam the opportunity to grab the remote from his hand and turn off the TV, throwing it to the side and stomping off to the bathroom without another word. "Sam?", Dean demanded, but the only answer he got was the sound of the bathroom door getting locked. He sighed and let himself fall back on the couch with a sigh, hands pressed against his temples. Sam would certainly not talk to him for the next hour or so, and unless he wanted to risk him actually sleeping on the bathroom floor and subsequently having to kick the door in to take a leak, he’d have to wait for his brother to get out of there by himself. Which was probably a good thing, because Dean was completely at loss for words to say to him, not to mention more than confused about that not-exactly-gay-porn-thing on TV. Was Sam maybe…? Dean ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Nobody would be able to give him those answers but his brother, and said brother was currently unavailable. Dean would simply have to sit and be patient, even if that wasn’t one of the things he did best. But maybe he could at least go and try to lift the veil of confusion a little by doing some inside research on the matter.

With determination he reached for the remote and switched the screen back on.

 

*******

 

The bathroom door creaked open at about half past one in the morning. Dean was still sitting on the couch, going through one of Dad’s old car magazines. With as much unimpressedness as he could muster he finally tore his eyes away and looked up at Sam who was blinking at him in unconcealed surprise. “Heya, Sammy, how’s it goin’?” “I – I thought you were asleep”, his brother stuttered. “Looks like I’m not. Sam, no, you’re not running away again”, Dean added, when Sam turned away, in an unmistakeable attempt to fly back into the security of the bathroom. “You still owe me an explanation.” Sam came to an abrupt halt and spun around, a clear hint of that good old teenage anger in his eyes. “I owe you nothing!” Dean immediately raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Fine, Sam, you don’t owe me. Of course you don’t. But you’re usually the one who wants to speak things through, and silently storming off doesn’t really cover that”, he explained, in a voice that, he hoped, sounded more matter-of-factly than he actually felt about this whole business. “Which is why I’m worried enough to actually initiate the talking-about-stuff-thing this time.” Sam’s expression went completely blank. “There’s nothing to talk about.” “You’ve missed the best part of the episode”, Dean retorted quickly, before Sam could proceed to lock himself back in. “Brian made a pretty kick-ass entrance at Justin’s school.”

His brother seemed completely dumbfounded. “What?” “I watched it”, Dean admitted to his research, half-smiling. “The rest. Tried to piece the snippets of information together. Not a bad show, actually. I kinda like that son-of-a-bitch Kinney.” “That explains a lot”, Sam snorted, before realising what he had just said; and instantly going red again. Dean shook his head and tapped on the couch-cushion next to him. “Come on, Sammy. Have a seat. And try not to look like a horrified codfish out of water; I’m not planning on kicking your ass. Considering all the porn I watch on a regular basis.” “It wasn’t porn”, Sam countered with a pissed-off expression, but he sat down next to Dean nevertheless, even though a bit hesitantly.

"I got that", Dean assured him. "What I wanna say: You’re seventeen, Sammy. You can watch whatever the fuck you want. But what I don’t understand is why you made a run for the goddamn bathroom like five Wendigos were on your heels." Sam didn’t answer for the best part of a minute. "I dunno. Was a bit - irritated, probably", he finally gave back. Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sammy, don’t lie to me." Silence. Again. "Fine”, Sam finally admitted. “I was scared. Are you happy now?" Dean scooted a little closer on the couch, catching Sam’s eyes and forcing him to look straight at him, putting on a glare. "No. Sam, I’m not happy. Actually, I find it pretty insulting of you to think I’d judge you for, you know…whatever. Making fun of you, yes. Some stupid comments – gotta live with that, you’re my little brother. But really judging you - I wouldn’t do that, as in, ever. Just so we’re clear." Sam nodded wordlessly, before staring down at his hands. "He reminded me of you", he suddenly blurted out, looking back up through his bangs, a glint of something indefinable in his not-completely-hazel eyes. "Who?", Dean asked, before his brain had time to process. "That character? Brian?"

Sam didn’t answer, but he looked away, and Dean knew he was right. “I’m not gay”, he objected, more out of reflex than anything. “That’s not what I mean”, Sam said quietly, glancing back at him, at last. “But – that whole leather-jacket-charming-everybody’s-pants-off-bad-boy-attitude he’s got going on, obviously. You’re just the same, only with girls. And then the stuff beneath the surface: How he actually cares, even if he lets everybody think he doesn’t. How he tries to be the best person he can be, in his own way. His brutal realism. Taking what life gives him and dealing with it. The resemblance…nearly uncanny, I’d say. In parts.” Dean gaped at his brother, who developed an intense interest in his shoelaces as soon as he had finished his monologue; making an effort to understand what Sam was trying to tell him. He knew that with his little brother it was more about the things he didn’t talk about than the ones outspoken, which was one of the reasons he hated this whole talking-business: It was a godforsaken detective game to find out how Sam actually meant what he said, not even to speak of what was going on in that smart, crazy teenage-brain of his. And the only thing Dean could do to better his prospects at getting a clue was asking blatant questions that were more than just a little uncomfortable. Especially in situations like this one.

"So", he began, with a cautious smile, choosing his words carefully. "If, um, I reminded you of Brian - or the other way around, whatever - then who reminded you of…you?" Sam blinked at him with an unreadable expression, shaggy brown strands of hair falling into his eyes; and something in Dean’s head clicked into place.

Sam was seventeen.

It was entirely too obvious whose shoes he saw himself in.

The implications of that realisation made Dean’s head swim, and despite everything, all of a sudden his mind was filled with a flood of pictures that he’d never, ever wanted to see – which didn’t exactly do a thing to stop them, stop the rush of images of his skinny little brother sprawled out on the bed beneath him, hair a mess, mouth open, pupils blown, making all sorts of beautiful little noises. He wondered how Sam’s hair would look, sticking to his forehead, how his hipbones would jut out from under his skin, how his moans would break in his throat as Dean took him apart, slowly, piece by piece, kissing and licking and fucking…

He didn’t know that he wanted to stand up, before he was halfway out of the door. All he knew was that he had to get away, away from Sam, away from the pictures, away from this weird talk about a fucking stupid TV show that had turned into…into – he didn’t even want to think about it.

He flounced out without even considering to get his jacked, into the cold December night, across the motel parking lot, to the Impala, where he started aggressively pulling at the door handle, before he remembered that he had forgotten the keys in the room. “Dean!”, a voice called – the last voice he wanted to hear – why did Sam follow him? But before he could turn away and run, long fingers wrapped around his wrist and yanked him away from the car with more force than he’d ever have suspected. In an attempt to shake them off, Dean turned around – which was his big mistake.

Because there, right up in his personal space, face partially illuminated by the neon lights, was his baby brother, that tall sonofabitch, still only in his t-shirt and jeans, staring down at him with something heated in his eyes that was not exactly anger, but closer to something else that Dean had never seen on his brother before. “You don’t get to run, Dean. Same rules for everybody.” “Fuck you.” Dean tried to squirm away, but Sam came even closer, physically pinning him to the car and leaving him no escape route. Even though lanky, he was stronger than he looked, and for the first time in his life Dean wasn’t sure if he would actually win in a fight against him.

“Why’d you just make a break for the door?”, Sam demanded, a cruel mirror question to the one Dean had asked a few minutes ago. Nothing on him right now recalled the panicked teenager that had sealed himself away in the bathroom, or blushed, or bitched around for the last couple ‘a days. Sam looked fucking huge and dangerous, and determined. Like he knew exactly what he wanted. Like _he was going to take_ exactly what he wanted. Dean gulped. “Was it because you were, hm, afraid?”, Sam asked, mockingly. “Come on.”

And that was fucking IT. Sam didn’t get to enact the sulky, red-faced, insecure teen, then turn into a goddamn predator and THEN try to force Dean to play by his rules; however big and powerful he might sell himself – he was still Dean’s baby brother. There were certain things one didn’t do without consequences; and in this special case the consequences consisted in a rather violent lip-to-lip-crash, that Dean hadn’t thought through in the slightest, and regretted at the latest when he realised that Sam kissed him right back, opening his mouth and shoving his tongue down Dean’s gobsmacked throat. There was no finesse in the way Sam kissed, but more than enough passion to make up for it, and Dean felt himself grow hard between his legs, before he came back to his senses, if briefly, and shoved his brother away.

“What the ever-loving FUCK do you think you’re doing?”, he asked, breathlessly. Sam had the nerve to smile. “You started it”, he gave back. “Oh no, I didn’t start a thing, you manipulative, little... Get OFF OF ME.” Sam licked his lips in a way that could only be described as downright dirty, and let Dean struggle – which didn’t get him very far, to be perfectly honest. “You kissed me”, Sam insisted. “And _something_ tells me, you’re not as opposed to this idea as you pretend to be.” Suddenly there was a hand at Dean’s crotch and he couldn’t suppress a moan at the spark of pleasure flashing through him. “All those girls you fuck”, Sam proceeded, fingers tracing Dean’s hard-on through the denim, driving him to the edge of madness in the process. “They never really give you what you need. I can tell. They’re just – hm – fast, easy ersatz satisfaction. I know why you ran away a few minutes ago. You were thinking about it. _Imagining_ what it would be like to have me. That’s what set you off. But you know what?” Sam lowered his mouth to Dean’s ear, whispering now. “I don’t judge you.” “Fuck – you”, Dean gasped. “We’re brothers, rememb-ah.” Sam’s hand squeezed around his cock, and a bunch of teeth found his earlobe. “So what? We’re messed up. Tell me something new.” Lips pressed against Dean’s ear shell. “I want you to have me. I want me to have you. Your mouth, and your hands and your dick.” Sam’s tongue licked down his neck, and Dean started shaking, when he sucked on the hickey that Dean’s acquaintance of the evening had left there. He could feel Sam’s erection against his leg, and parts of his brain were running in panicky circles, while others were of the firm opinion that this was the hottest fucking thing that had ever happened to him.

After a moment Sam let go of Dean’s neck and lifted his head, staring him straight in the eye. The hand on Dean’s dick disappeared, and his hips thrust forward involuntarily, seeking for friction. Sam chuckled. “Now: What do you say?”, he asked, more seriously. Maybe, in retrospect, Dean could have made a point of claiming that the crotch-stroking or the deep kissing or even the bruise-sucking and earlobe-chewing had driven him over the edge into surrender, because he was only a man, and he was twenty-one, and Sam had thoroughly worked him up after all. But that would have been a lie: Because what really got to him, what finally undid him, was the look in Sam’s eyes, in that exact moment. Yes, it was dark and heated and altogether a promise of filthy, hot sex; but there was also a sliver of anxiety in it, a piece of Sammy, of that boy Dean had cared for all his life, the boy he could never hurt or reject, even if it would be the right thing to do, the sane thing to do. This was the boy he would carve his heart out for. The boy he had always loved more than life itself.

“Not here”, Dean murmured into Sam’s space. “We’re both going to freeze our balls off, before we’re getting anywhere.” The smile he got in return was worth all the guilty feelings that Dean was sure would come up sooner or later. “Then let’s go back inside”, Sam said, all of a sudden the shy teenager again, and took a step away from Dean, so he could move. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re an obnoxious brat?”, he asked, as soon as he was not in danger of getting pinned to the car any more. “Kinda funny hearing that from you. Given that you’re the one who just kissed me stupid.” Dean had to laugh, despite himself, from the surreal incomprehensibility of the situation. “Yeah, guess so.”

When they passed the threshold, Dean felt the doubts re-emerging once more. “Sam, are you sure…” He didn’t get to finish. The door slammed shut, and Sam was on his knees in front of him, shoving him against the door, while swiftly unbuttoning Dean’s jeans, making his neglected cock stir back to attention. “You said yes. There’s no getting out of this one”, Sam reminded him with softness in his eyes and gravel in his voice, before he managed to open the last button, pulled the fabric down and took Dean’s dick in hand. “God, I’ve been waiting to do this since I was fifteen”, he breathed – and Dean was lost. There was nothing else to think about, all doubts banished from his head, like Sam had worked a spell, narrowing Dean’s whole world down to his mouth on Dean’s cock, wet and perfect, and the sight of him looking up through his lashes, eyes big and dark and fearless. Dean had never been more turned on in his life, and he was coming distressingly fast, gripping Sam’s hair to warn him, or shove him away, but Sam simply carried on, working his mouth and swallowing every drop of what Dean was giving him, when the waves of his orgasm crashed in.

Dean was grateful for the door behind his back – he didn’t know if his legs would be able to hold him upright, as Sam pulled off with an obscene pop and rose back to his feet, his lips red and swollen and his eyes deep pools of green-blue-brown-black. When Dean kissed him, he could taste himself in Sam’s mouth, bitter and salty. “Holy shit, Sam”, he said, eventually breaking away. “That was-“ His baby brother smirked. “You can fuck me later.” “Don’t say such things when I’ve just blown my load”, Dean groaned. “On that note-“ He let his hand drift down Sam’s side, deliberately touching him like this for the first time, and reached down between his legs, expecting throbbing hardness there – but all he found was a wet spot. “Already took care of that”, his brother remarked with a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Right. Forgot that you’re still a kid.” “Who just gave you the blowjob of your life.” “Don’t be too proud of yourself, I’ve had better.” Sam narrowed his eyes. “No, you haven’t”, he noted. Dean bit his bottom lip. “No, I haven’t”, he conceded, tenderly. “Good”, Sam gave back, before he kissed him once more, sweet and short. “I’ll shower.”

That said he turned around on his heels, taking a few steps, before he looked back over his shoulder. “You coming?” Dean nodded silently, and watched Sam as he marched off. He wondered how he came to this, leaning against a motel room door with his pants around his ankles after his baby brother sucked him off. _You’re fucked up beyond repair, Dean Winchester. You and your brother likewise._ Dean found, to his surprise, that the voice of moral and sanity in his head didn’t have much of an impact on how he felt.He stepped out of his pants and pulled off his shirt, following the sound of water spraying in the shower. Sam was happy. He wanted this. And Dean wanted what Sam wanted. It was easy like that.

_So what? We’re messed up. Tell me something new._


End file.
